


Of Hearts and Heartbeats

by round_robin



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s06e13 The Wedding of River Song, F/M, Gen, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sad, Sherlock/John implied, Time Lords, Time War, oh god everyone is probably going to kill me, too many feelings, too sad to function properly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's Fall, the John gets a visit.</p><p>WARNING: I don't even know what to warn for, so just warning, I guess?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hearts and Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hell, I don't even know how to tag this. And I can pretty much guarantee that everyone will hate me for this, but here are my reasons: this fic was inspired by these two gif sets.
> 
> http://round--robin.tumblr.com/post/27126772518/doctorwho-doctor-john-h-watson-could-just-be  
> http://round--robin.tumblr.com/post/26574139221/i-never-liked-crossovers-before-then-i-discovered
> 
> Everyone has probably seen them. They're cute and kind of funny, but my mind just had to take it... well, here. And you know how everyone says "and I'm not even sorry for it." I am sorry for this.
> 
> Post Reichenbach and Post The Wedding of River Song. Not betaed or Brit-picked. If you find a typo, stick it in with your comment and it'll be taken care of.

The familiar noise filled the flat. John’s eyes fell closed as he tried to ignore that sound and the breeze that it kicked up. Papers fluttered around, swirling in the air that was disturbed by the blue box he knew all too well. He opened his eyes just in time to see it fully formed in his sitting room—right in front of the windows, wouldn’t Mycroft just love that—before turning back to stare into his tea.

The doors creaked open—now was his chance. Once he started, that man never stopped talking, so he had to act now. “No,” he said. Feet shod in large, clunky boots stopped moving. John wouldn’t turn and look at him. Once he did, things would be that much harder. “No.”

“Captain—” the Doctor started.

“No!” John shouted and turned to glare at the other Time Lord.

He was different. Long-ish hair that got in his eyes but stuck up at the back, flying in whatever direction it pleased. He wore a tweed jacket that was a little too tight for him and—of all things—a bow tie. So different… but wasn’t he always? Never had John met another Time Lord who was so careless with his regenerations. He himself had only been through four, and here the Doctor had managed to use ten of his. Ten regenerations, eleven bodies, eleven different faces and different old friends to meet again. But not this time. He wouldn’t be swayed for one more adventure. He just wouldn’t.

He took a breath to calm himself a bit before meeting the Doctor’s eyes. “It’s not the Captain anymore,” he whispered. “Unless you consider my rank. Captain John H. Watson. Of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. That’s all the captain I am anymore.”

Old, sad eyes turned inquisitive. Yes, the disappointment and emotional damage could wait for a moment. Right now, John was a mystery. “How did you get past the memory wipe?” He asked. “By all rights, you shouldn’t know who I am.”

“And that’s what you were counting on, wasn’t it?” John growled. He knew this game, of course he did. He bloody well invented it! “You were going to show up, pretending to have lost your way. And the lonely, broken man you found would be so taken with you, of course he’d hop in the magic space ship and go gallivanting around the Universe with you! Because anything would be better than staying here, grieving for a dead man who I never got to tell how I really felt!

“Then, you’d tell me who I really was, find my Chameleon Arch and change me back, then we’d go on having grand adventures. The last two Time Lords together. Well I’m sorry, but I can’t bloody well do it.” John could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. In the weeks since Sherlock’s Fall, he hadn’t cried all that much. Now, just the thought of being taken away from the place he and Sherlock shared—by someone he used to call friend—had him nearly breaking down. But he wouldn’t look away. He would stare the Doctor down, show him that John H. Watson was made of more loyal stuff than any Time Lord.

“No, Doctor.” He hissed. “That will not be happening. Not now, not ever.”

“I see that,” he whispered. A small voice, something the Doctor didn’t usually use. For a moment, John was standing in his sitting room, yelling at some poor, over-sized public school boy who was too smart for his own good, and too lonely to know when to stop. He was talking to Sherlock. A nine hundred year-old Sherlock, but still a version of him.

Had Sherlock been a Time Lord, would John still be in this situation? Would they have been friends back on Gallifrey? Would they have fought side by side in the Time War? Or run away like the Doctor—and John—ended up doing?

He picked up his tea and walked into the sitting room. Plopping down in his chair, and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I destroyed the fob watch,” he said. He didn’t need to look up, he could hear the Doctor stiffen. “I destroyed it and all my memories came back, but none of the biology.” Dropping his hand, John finally met the Doctor’s eyes. “I’m human now. No going back.”

The Doctor swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Why?” He asked.

John shrugged. “Because I fell in love. Is there any other reason?”

“Love,” the Doctor whispered, saying it almost like a curse. He dropped his chin and looked at the TARDIS’s paneling, his finger stroking over a knot hole. “In love with Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I happened to land myself in the universe where his books don’t exist, but he does. And I’m John Watson.” A wide smile broke across his face. “I never even realized, not until after my memories came back. John Watson, such a common name. Then I met him and I realized that I was Watson, _his_ Watson.

“With him, I felt alive again, Doctor,” John leaned back in his chair, smiling like a fool. He loved it. He hadn’t been that happy for so long, not since… “He got my blood pumping again. I could feel my heart beating.” Yes, heart. The Doctor sure as hell noticed that. One heart. He was not standing across the room from another Time Lord, not anymore.

“Oh,” John smiled. “I wish you could’ve met him. It’s not like he was in the books, he’s… he’s _more_. So much more. The first time I met him, he was the most brilliant, mad creature I’d ever laid eyes on. So smart—you couldn’t imagine. He would run rings around a few Time Lords!” With another chuckle, John looked the Doctor up and down. “He would even give you a run for your money in a few places.”

“He reminded you of her,” the Doctor translated. “The way you two would run across Gallifrey, annoying the hell out of everyone and making the Time Council ban you. Twice. He even has the same raison d’être. You had to have noticed that.”

John’s lips tightened. He wouldn’t say it, no, he damn well wouldn’t. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d found someone just like the Detective. That made his love for Sherlock something sick and disturbed. Like trying to replace her…

“But he’s gone now.” The Doctor continued. “Why can’t you come with me?”

“He’s not,” John snapped. And just like that, all the happy memories of Sherlock and John’s wife flowed away. Leaving in their place visions of pale skin spattered with blood, a red pool on the sidewalk, the skies of Gallifrey cracking open as time bled and her hand slipped from his. “He’s not gone.”

“Yes.” The Doctor said. “He is. You saw it—”

“I know what I saw, and I tell you, he’s not gone,” he bit out.

“Yes he is!” Stepping away from the TARDIS, the Doctor turned a frustrated little circle, coming around to look at John, hands outstretched and imploring. “He’s not a Time Lord! Humans don’t regenerate! He’s gone! The reason you chose to stay isn’t here anymore! So why can’t you come with me?”

Suddenly out of his chair again, John shouted “Because he’s not dead!” It was out of his mouth so fast, he barely had time to realize what he’d just done. That was the first time he’d said the word. _Dead_. Sherlock was supposed to be dead. Not simply gone. Or away somewhere. He was dead…

But John couldn’t believe that. He wouldn’t.

“Captain,” the Doctor whispered. John clenched his jaw, trying not to yell at him for using a name that wasn’t his anymore. “You spent too long inside the Time War. You saw too many people—too many friends—die and regenerate. But humans don’t do that. They don’t come back.” The Doctor understood that better than most.

“No,” he snapped again, clenching is fists before he hit the Doctor. “No, this isn’t about me being some relic from the Time War who can’t understand human mortality. I’ve been human for thirty-seven years. I’ve been to war on _this_ planet. I’ve seen good men and women, people I called friend, people I cared for… I’ve seen them die. Right in front of me. So don’t you dare think that this is the out of touch _Time Lord_ not knowing the fragility of human life. I’m not a Time Lord anymore, I know perfectly well that humans die, and I’m telling you that Sherlock isn’t dead.”

“Why not?” The Doctor asked, his voice soft and even. Nothing like the storm of anger and hurt swirling inside of him.

“Because he can’t be!” With a great sigh, John sank back into his chair like his strings had been cut. One heavy hand covered his face again. “He can’t be, he just can’t. He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, and he just can’t be dead.” A small shudder ripped its way through John.

“You mean you wish he weren’t,” the Doctor whispered. “We’re not talking about an impossibility. We’re talking about your will that he not be dead.”

A thick lump rose in John’s throat. He swallowed it down and uttered a feeble, “He came back in the books…”

The Doctor knew what this was, this desperate grasping at straws. He’d done it himself too many times. “You’re going to trust your future happiness to some literature that doesn’t even exist in this universe?”

“Yes,” John didn’t even have to think about that, because the alternative was unacceptable. “He’s alive. I don’t know where, I don’t know why, but he is. And he will come back to me.”

He nodded slowly. He understood, of course he did. If he hadn’t had similar hopes, he never would’ve seen Rose again. Oh, now wasn’t that a painful memory the Doctor didn’t want to poke at. But there was still something…

“You said that you love him.” He began.

“I do,” John nodded, hand still covering his face. “I love him more than I ever thought possible.”

“Does he reciprocate?” This could be a question after the welfare of his friend… or a last ditch ploy to get him to agree to travel with him. The Doctor wasn’t about to question his own motives. That was usually where things like the Dream Lord hid.

A small snort and John dropped his hand. “We’re not fucking, if that’s what you’re asking. If he wanted to, I would. In a heartbeat. But he doesn’t want me that way, and I’d love him no matter what, so it’s all fine.”

“Alright… John.” The Doctor said. “I’ll just go then, shall I?”

“Yeah, that would be best,” he whispered. Again, he wouldn’t look up at the Time Lord. Some memories were just too painful; no need to have the world’s second most observant man see them written across your face.

“Right.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. He stood there, looking down at the human—oh yes, so very human—slumped over in the chair like a man defeated. Well, the Doctor supposed that would describe them both. The last two Time Lords, now down to one. There was no greater defeat than that.

A moment later, John heard the creak of old wood and hinges, and the wind started to kick up again. He opened his eyes just in time to see the TARDIS fading away.

 

~

 

As soon as he heard it, Sherlock turned towards the exact spot where he would land. It was the only space in his dingy little flat that was large enough to park the blue box, so that’s where it had to be. Deductive reasoning and all that.

Standing up from the little table, Sherlock’s hand gripped tight to the back of the cheap wooden chair he just vacated. It took all of his strength to keep his entire body from shaking.

Soon enough, the TARDIS appeared, fully formed right next to Sherlock’s bed—an uncomfortable cot pushed up against the wall, leaving him enough floor space to work. Or enough floor space for any visiting Time Lords.

The door was barely open when he started making demands. “Well?” He barked. “How is he?”

“He’s fine,” the skinny figure said as he appeared from the box. “He’s alone, and in pain, but he’s fine.”

For some reason, Sherlock thought hearing about John’s health—mental and physical—would make him feel better, but it only served to make the knot in his chest tighten uncomfortably. “Does he know?” He whispered. Because the wrong answer to this question could spell the death of the person he cared the most for. The only human he’d ever loved. The only _person_ , aside from…

The Doctor shook his head and the knot inside of Sherlock melted away. “No, he doesn’t. He knows you’re alive, naturally, but otherwise he doesn’t know.”

The knot returned, wrapping around Sherlock’s stomach like a fist. “What?” He hissed. “You just said he—”

“He knows in that way where he has to believe it, else he won’t survive,” the Doctor interrupted. He stood leaning against the TARDIS, his eyes turned away, head down. He had many, many reasons for not wanting to look at Sherlock—some belonged to John, some were his own. “In his mind, a world cannot exist in which Sherlock Holmes doesn’t. It is in that way he knows you’re alive.

“It’s very emotional, and very human.” He flicked his gaze up to Sherlock, glaring at him the way only old friends could. “You should take notes. It might get you a little closer to acting human enough to deserve the love of that man.”

Sherlock straightened himself up and sneered back at the Doctor. “John has never complained—”

“Oh yes he has,” he said. Arms across his chest, the Doctor leveled a gaze on Sherlock that would freeze beer. For so long, they had been friends, he never thought he could be disappointed in him like this. “You just haven’t been listening! If I ever had someone like John Watson, I wouldn’t throw it all away like you did.”

“That’s funny,” Sherlock bit back. “Especially coming from you. Why is it that you’re here again, Doctor? I seem to remember it being something along the lines of you faking your death as well?”

“How are you going to get past that?” He asked. Yes, change the subject. Better for both. “When you finally go back to him. I can’t imagine ‘I used half of my regeneration energy to repair my body and then siphoned the rest off’ is going to go over well.”

“A pathologist at Bart’s,” Sherlock said. “She helped me set everything up to make it look… convincing. John’s a medical man. He’ll understand that.” Pause. “The mechanics of it at least.”

“And when you come back?” The Doctor asked. “He loves you. When he finds out that you’re not dead, he’s going to hug you. Touch you. It’s what humans do.”

His hand curled tighter around the top of the chair. Dropping his chin, Sherlock found that he didn’t want to look at the Doctor. When he was on the offensive, it was fine, but being under the microscope like this was… not pleasant. Now he knew what everyone else felt like when speaking to him.

But the Doctor kept going. “That’s why you haven’t told him how you feel, isn’t it? Because as soon as you say you love him as well, he’s going to want to be close. Physical. Can’t let the good _human_ doctor feel the second heart beating in your chest.”

Sherlock said nothing, instead, he did that staring into the middle distance thing he’d always been so good at. “I think you ought to be going,” he whispered finally.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I think that’s wise, Detective.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed. “It’s Sherlock now. You know that.”

“Yes, I do,” the Doctor said. Their eyes met again and he gave Sherlock a small, sad smile, the one he’d always been so good at. “But if I’m going to say goodbye to the only other Time Lord left in existence, I’m going to use your proper title. Just this once.”

“Understandable.”

With a quiet nod, Sherlock returned to his chair and the Doctor went back to the TARDIS. They never really needed many words, not before the War and certainly not after.

 

~

 

Closing the door behind him, the Doctor turned on the engines and set a course as far out of this universe as he could. It was only the smallest chance that he received the Detective’s message, and an even smaller one that he managed to find a big enough opening between the dimensions to slip through. The fact that the Detective was pretty much the only Time Lord the Doctor could never stand—even when she was female and pleasantly distracting in certain ways—was moot at that point. He just wanted to see someone. Anyone. What a surprise it had been that there were two Time Lords living in that same world. And the perverse part? They didn’t even know it.

That’s what the Time War did, blurred the lines and faces of old friends and lovers until no one recognized each other. Until the Captain didn’t know he was in love—remaining human, sacrificing everything—for the Detective, the woman he’d loved and married back on Gallifrey before the War ripped everything apart. True, the Detective’s last regeneration had made her very firmly a he, but that didn’t matter. John still loved him. It was as beautiful as it was tragic, and the Doctor couldn’t do anything about it.

_Why didn’t you tell them?_

The TARDIS’s silent little voice whispered inside his head. She was the only one who spoke to him anymore, mostly because she was the only one he had. And she always would be.

His fingers caressing the console, the Doctor let out a heavy breath. “The Captain smashed his fob watch,” he whispered back to her. “I was going to tell them. But there’s no way he’ll ever be a Time Lord again. Would it be more cruel to inform them of the millennia they’ve missed out on? Or to let them go along as they always had?”

 _My beautiful idiot,_ she whispered. _Things will work themselves out._

He could only hope.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I still don't know...


End file.
